Rain Of Poems
by AoiNoKitsune
Summary: YAMAKERU, the second chapter up, finally. Takeru askes his questions and Yamato answers... in his onw way. Because sometimes love doesn't need mere words, but poems.
1. Rain of Poems

**DISCLAIMER:** Here we go again, I don't own digimon. Yamato x Takeru - don't read if it offends you. What I do own, are the poems. I'd like to know your opinion on them (?) R&R, please.

Lots of non-English snips, translated in ... brackets because of the end-page non-scrollabillity lament.

**Rain of Poems  
**chapter 1 / 3 - _Takeru's Elegy_ (REPOSTED, hope it's more scrollable this time)

A stunning blonde, azure eyes, dressed to kill and with an attitude to mach, walking among the crowded streets of Tokyo is what could be called a white sheep among the black. Only, perhaps, this precise blonde, wore the title of wolf, and his brilliant rock songs made sure everybody knew that. Nobody was afraid of him, he knew, but still they were sheep for him, mindless sheep blindly following his lead to neverland, soaking up his preciously empty love songs with the fantasy-curled fluff of their wool. Albums sold out the moment they were put on the market, requests for appearances, if not for concerts, crowed his schedule, yearly tours were a must and there was no way he could escape the usual fan-hour that followed every performance, signing the most various types of twinkles he never knew his company produced for his fans to spend money on... Oh, how it was all so amusing at first! How much satisfaction it brought to see his high-school band in the local paper for the first time! How he had phoned chichi dad to work, ecstatic, as they were offered a very real dreamy music contract, how had he taken out 'kaasan mother and Takeru-chan for dinner to celebrate his first live concert at the Tokyo Zepp...

Golden locks glittered in the afternoon sun of that fatidic summer Saturday. Rehearsals were over, next-week appointments settled, and arguments taken care of. Before him stood a blissfully idyllic weekend, two whole days of wandering around as he pleased, and what he intended to please himself with doing was slacking off big time. Even his manager had suggested him to do just that. Youth had its benefits on keeping nasty eye-swells off the face, but he was told not to risk immunity dropping by any means, as Monday a long trip to Kyoto and an even longer, sold-out concert awaited him.

His long legs, fitted in tailored blue jeans, brought him pass countless vitrines of innumerous shops, one more colorful than the next, he noted with disinterest. His flaxen white shirt was barely hugging him, still he felt hot and stuffy in that sea of a crowd. He never was a particularly social spirit and heat was something he never did cope quite well with. He could have endured it, just like he had intended to at first - as he was to endure his emptiness inside, white-blank evident when he was alone. But he couldn't dig out a reason to do so. He simply stepped out of the flow of the human river, the stand-out that he already was, dropping to sit on the road-rimming beton fence, not bothered by the bleaching heat that the sizzling sunrays had ebbed there throughout the day, his jeans were thick enough. Pulling out of his pocket a small metal-blue cell-phone, he brushed through the numbers memorized. Who did he feel like calling, he wondered. Well, it depended on what he felt like doing. Which was a good question indeed.

Money and fame had spoiled him. He tried not to let it show, not even to himself, but he knew they did. He could feel himself growing numb for the world of fears and ambition and appreciation that surrounded him. How big were his plans as he was just an insignificant little rookie among his sempai musicians, how hard had he worked to push through the line of success... Only to feel tired of life at the present. Which was quite a disturbing thought, seeing as he had barely hit nineteen years of age. One of his hands dropped to his lap and the twinkle of the chains he wore on its wrist woke him up to a realization - the other hand was holding a softly beeping phone to his ear. He had called someone by impulse? How odd... He leant back lazily, azure eyes, shaded by dark sunglasses, carefully designed to mask his identity, lifted to blink at the sun, as if wanting to scold it for that unbearable afternoon heat...

A silent click told him whoever was on the other side had picked the phone up. Well-known tones poured from the cell-phone and he relaxed, smiling against the speaker.

"Moshi-moshi hello?"

"... otouto little bro... "

"Yamato! Yaa hey!"

The spring of joy from the other side of the line made him imagine the beaming smile crowning his brother's lips and, unconsciously, his own smile deepened. "Hey there. Who are you taking out tonight?" he joked, lifting his slender golden eyebrows as he waited for the answer.

"O- out?" there was a nervous, but somewhat thoughtful pause that caught Yamato's attention. Could it be that his otouto had actually gotten a date? Not that it was impossible, rather the opposite, but... Takeru had never had a girlfriend so far, not that the older blonde knew about anyway. It bothered him slightly, he fancied himself his younger brother's best friend...

"Yes, out. Do you have a date?"

"Why, as a matter of fact, I think I do," his brother laughed shortly, coquettishly, enticingly... just like he always did, just like he had learned to copy it from his 'niichan older brother. And, like a bolt right through the heart, a small feeling of hurt and betrayal poured through Yamato's veins. Again, it was Takeru's sweet voice what soothed the flow like a shot of morphine to the brain. "You're going to steal me away, ne?"

Now Yamato was the one to laugh out loud, making some girls turn to admire him longingly as they passed by. Yet eyes of unknown women lusting for him were something he was wont, not to say bored of. "Of course. Stay the night? I'll make dinner..." he purred invitingly, leaning back to make sure his shirt stuck to his chest for good, spread his long legs to tease, free hand brought up to toy with a stray lock of impossibly golden silk, and they walked on crestfallen, thinking, perhaps, he was talking with his lover.

"Ho- hontoni really, 'niichan!" chirped Takeru, enthusiastic, and Yamato had to smile again, sincerely.

"Honto no hontoni really really. Why wouldn't I? I'm on the station next to the Zepp, and if I'm not mistaking, that's n°84 heading this way..."

"Naa, Odaiba imasu... yokattare, ishoni ikimasenka Hey, I'm in Odaiba... should we go together? I could catch up with you at the subway..."

"Odaiba?" Yamato lifted his eyebrows, standing up to fish his monthly buss-ticket from his pocket with his free hand. By now he had forgotten all about showing off. Somehow, when Takeru was in sensory range, everything else was put into the background. "What are you doing in Odaiba?"

There was an unsuccessfully repressed sort of giggle at which Yamato only blinked. "Ex Goggle Boy commands you to show your fancy ass around sometime before he gets extinct like a dinosaur..."

"I better hurry then. There already is no greater asshole than him..." His joke held no ill feeling and the light sound of his voice confirmed it. Takeru was still laughing when he added; "I'll call 'kaasan you're sleeping at my place. You can borrow something of mine to sleep in."

"Doumo thanks, 'niichan. Ja ne bye!"

"Dou itashimashite no prob. Jaa bye!"

He was smiling now, grinning even, despite the bus he was about to load was crowded as if the whole block had decided to ride it at once. Ticket marked, he caught onto one of the handles, thoughtful. His mind skipped back and forth, from the past to the present, and to what could be the future, but all he could think about was Takeru. What would he ever do without him...

He never noticed he was humming a tune, one of his recent songs ebbed in his subconscious, never noticed people were staring at him, girls recognizing him... Because, to him, they weren't as important as those thoughts.

"'niichan!"

A hand groped his wrist, tugging him to run along. Familiar long blonde locks blurred by his line of sight, and that was all it took to kick him into motion. Jumping three stairs at the time to keep up with his brother, Takeru thought at first they were being followed by a hoard of rabid fangirls, not an impossible occurrence, but he had actually never experienced it. So as they hit the ground-stair, he enthusiastically whirled his head back to see.

Only there was no one that seemed interested in them. A few girls did throw a look in their direction, but nobody was chasing them. He turned forth to Yamato again, smiling at the bizarre pace they were advancing along the long hallway of the sub. "Why are we running!" he breathed, twisting his wrist out of the grasp, moving his hand quickly until it slid in his brother's. His black backpack was bumping against his back and his baggy gray pants were constantly in his way, riding low over his wine-red sneakers, still he didn't even think of protesting to pause.

His bother only flashed him a smile, and they were at the subway platforms already. Their rail, the third, was still empty, but the older blonde ran all the way to the yellow safety-line and Takeru, as on command, skipped to a halt next to him. Yamato was still gripping his hand, and he was gripping his back for dear life. His cerulean eyes stole around them as his free hand lifted to adjust his now trademark gray bell-cap. Expectantly, but no less shyly, he met the staring eyes of every single soon-to-be co-passenger. Two blond guys, very apparently brothers and both quite of age, running and holding hands like two elopers - what wasn't there to stare at? Shyly he stole a sideways glance at his brother. His chest was hovering and his cheeks were flushed from running, but he was grinning contently, proudly, and the smaller blonde could feel a wide grin creeping onto his face too. Yeah, he thought courageously, let them think what they want! Let them fool themselves! But his cheeks flushed red and his eyes dropped to gaze at his sneakers.

It would have felt awkward, but it didn't as this was Odaiba, and basically no-one knew them. It suddenly occurred to Takeru, that if they wanted, they could actually give a show, have fun at it - and get away with it. Role-play was one of his favorite games since he was little. When he felt like crying in the kindergarten, he would think himself Yamato and his tears wouldn't spill, or he would think himself Taichi when he played football and would always score a goal... he could think himself a lover too, couldn't he?

The sub came gliding over the rails, screeching as it stopped, and its doors slid open. Pouring in with the rest of the crowd, Yamato quickly grasped the metal tube near the exit, holding his brother close so the others could fill in pass them. Even when the doors closed and the sub started to move, he still held Takeru against him, eyes flashing over the crowd under dark shades. Delighted to be in the center of attention, he found the expressions regarding them were now various, from disgusted scowls to flushed wistful ogling.

Takeru's cheeks were devil-red, but his hands weren't shy at all. As his brother was pinning him against the metal tubes with his body, very eloquently invading his personal space, both of his hands were free. He thought for a moment and then daringly slid them in the but-pockets of his brother's jeans. Yamato's hips shifted closer, sure, but that was pretty much it. Takeru nearly felt as though he wasn't doing enough, that his brother had totally expected him to do just that. He wanted to shock him, tease him now that he actually got a chance, make the role-playing more fun. He leaned in despite the heat, and with a boldness he never knew he possessed, planted his lips on his brother's neck, gently licking, feeling his brother give a slight startled jerk. Pleased at the reaction he couldn't help it, he bit on teased flesh.

Surprised, Yamato, found himself having to stiff a moan in his throat. It was a dangerous game to play, yes, but one he wanted to. Having someone small and blonde and petite, but still very definitely male - and very very forbidden at it - pressed against him, sucking on his neck, was quite a kick. As he was straight-edge by principle, no drugs or booze for over five years, he didn't get many of those. Sometimes, if the vibe was right, his songs could get him high as hell. But not this high. Heat or not, he was inching closer, and he caught himself wondering what after-shave did his brother use... it had such a nice smell...

Cerulean eyes darted up to him, kicking sense back into place. "Ci stanno guardando tutti everybody's looking at us... !" The small blonde was grinning, flushed. His whisper was in fluent Italian, their father's mother-language 1. At school, they had originally studied only English besides the national Japanese, and most of the population was bad enough at that. But Takeru loved languages, Yamato knew as much. He especially loved Italian, the way it just poured out sweet as the finest of honeys, no matter if intoning a curse or a love song. And, needless to say, 'tousan father loved Takeru for it. He enjoyed teaching him, especially his Roman accent of it.

After Takeru, Yamato was the second most fluent in it, having lived with chichi since the divorce. "Lo so' I know," he grinned, "si stanno godendo la scienata, ti pare they're enjoying the show, don't you think?" He leaned in closer to those cerulean eyes, gone wide at his approach, as if aiming for his lips, and they both heard a woman, standing perhaps a couple of feet away, gasp in shock. Takeru's shoulders started shaking with repressed laughter. He tried to stop, he really did, but he was too nervous, excited and enthralled to succeed. He ended converting it into shaky coughing, and Yamato was hugging him close, laughing up into the collar of his indigo T-shirt.

"Se mi baciavi, sveniva had you kissed me, she would have passed out," Takeru whispered at last, coughing still, and his brother nodded. Some stations passed, people boarding, people descending, but everybody glaring at the blonde duo pressed together near the exit.

To see them waking home from where the bus they took from the subway had left them, people probably thought they ran across a couple of lunatics. That is, if they had a bad day - unlike them.

"Na, Yamato... sing me a song," pleaded Takeru, grinning again. This was the most fun afternoon of the week, if not the month. And to say there was still the evening to come, with Yamato's excellent cooking...! "'Garou no Kokolo' Wolf's Heart, Yamato, onegai shimasu please."

"Iie no... I'm sick of singing for today," the older blonde yawned, wrapping a hand around his otouto's shoulders. The sun was just beginning to set, coloring the sky with orange shades where it met the horizon, burning orange shades that smoothly transposed into the blue of the young evening sky and up into the heavens. "Mata kondo onegai shimasu do ask me some other time, please..."

"Saa, saa c'mon, c'mon...!" the younger wouldn't let it drop, turning big cerulean puppy eyes at his sibling.

"... Sing it yourself, you know the lyrics," the older suggested, smiling somewhat tiredly. Takeru was pouting still, so he begun to hum the vocal's melody, urging him to sing it as he knew this was his favorite song. He was reading him like an opened book it occurred to him then, as Takeru hooked an arm around his waist and let himself get lost in the lyrics...

_"Night-time's young, let's reach out  
Hear the song  
Of lonesome wolves howling to the sky  
The breeze is chill, let's fur up  
Feel the thrill  
Of small sharp paws sacring the ground-"_

"... iidesune awesome!" muttered the older, amazed. The piece was rather difficult, yet his otouto hadn't missed a single note. Feeling bolder at the praise, Takeru raised his voice a bit, smiling as he sung.

_"The wood's near, let's find it  
Know the tears  
Of brother souls passing by  
The moon's full, a strength's crescendo  
See the fools  
With broken sculls by time's misguide"_

The last bit too was sung without errors, Yamato mused. His brother must have heard it quite a lot of times to manage a clear tonality like that. And his voice was very stable and sure... perhaps he had been practicing it even... It filled him with a feeling of honor, that his otouto liked his song to such extends. So when Takeru gasped another lungsfull to continue, he decided to sing along. Nothing felt better than synchronizing with the one he felt closest to...

_"Pale winter moon, bring me my breakdown  
Mid-summer stars, sparkle up and fade  
Morning Venus, shine me up a dawn  
Sunshine, awake me from this haze...!"_

The song ended there, in laughter. So natural, so simple, so warm was the feeling bonding them. Brotherly, Takeru tried to describe it, but it didn't quite fit somehow. Had they been like any other pair of brothers, the fact that they were so talented in the same fields of creativity would have erected a strong competition, if not hatred. Was there even a possible reason he could hate his 'niichan for...?

"Omedetou gozaimasu congratulations!" beamed Yamato, hugging him close. With a swift gesture he snatched the grey bell-cap off of those golden locks, hand placed flat against the outer cheek, and he urged that petite face near, planting a proud kiss on his otouto's temple. Surely he couldn't have gotten a little brother better than this.

'niichan was the greatest, the most beautiful, the most perfect person in the world. "Doumo arigatou gozaimashta thank you very much..." he muttered automatically, closing his eyes as soft lips touched his temple. And it wasn't about the praise, or the kiss... it was about the approval, the honor he could feel radiating from his dear 'niichan, honor of having a sibling like him.

"Goshi sousa yo deshita thank you for the delicious meal... You're still the best cook in the world, 'niichan!" Takeru was grinning as he helped his brother gather the plates and dishes, now empty, from the table. He carried them quickly to the sink, gently bumping Yamato, who was just tying his chess-patterned blue and white apron ready to start with the washing, away from it with his hip. If Yamato had been so nice to cook, he might as well try to compensate with washing up, he decided. Ever since his 'niichan had moved to a place on his own, having turned eighteen, their evenings together felt different somehow, more intense in a way. Every time he got to spend the evening with Yamato, it felt like a new adventure, they always got to do something fun - boredom was a term 'niichan didn't know about, it seemed. On more occasions, Takeru found himself wishing he could simply move in with him, and live like that for the rest of his life.

But Yamato was bored most of the time, apatic for pretty much everything and everybody that surrounded him. Except Takeru. His otouto, so sunny and warm and up to everything he could come up with, so active and cheerful there just was no way that he wouldn't kick him to life as well. He was so predictably unpredictable, yet always nice and caring, patient and calm when needed... so unlike an average sixteen. So unlike a brother. More like... like what?

"Na, Takeru... you don't need to do that..." he blinked, a small pang of guilt alerting his senses. He didn't just thought of defining his brother as 'lover', did he...? Surely it couldn't be. Watching him clean the dishes in his kitchen, remains of a dinner set for two, with the ease of someone feeling completely at home...

"Daijobu it's OK, I want to do it," beamed the boy and two cerulean eyes seemed as transfixing as never before, Yamato noticed with a start. "I want to help somehow, I can't let you do everything."

He laughed then, nervously, to forcefully shake himself out of that nondefinable revire. This was Takeru, his sweet Takeru... He untied the apron he had just slid on moments ago and quietly moved to put it on his otouto, arms moving up under his to hook it over his head. Before he knew it, his hands were sliding down that lightly toned torso, a bit too slowly so to be just smoothing the rumples. He wanted to do that, to feel him up, he really did, Yamato confessed himself reluctantly. He closed his eyes praying he was dreaming, hoping it would never end... He never noticed Takeru had stopped washing the dishes, leaning back onto him silently, until... Until his wandering hands hit the buckle of his brother's belt, the only thing holding up those baggy gray pants.

He jerked slightly, coming back to his senses in a bolt. One of his otouto's hands whipped in the apron and rose to tangle softly in his long blond locks. "No need to thank me 'niichan," he turned to look at him with a golden smile curving his lips, "I should be the one thanking you, constantly."

Yamato repressed the urge to swallow. He leaned in softly, posing his lips carefully against his brother's temple as he was wont to. Sure, what he felt for his brother was deep and sincere affection, just as Takeru had read it, but for a moment there, for a blissfully wonderful moment, his hands had been lead by something far more urgent and sleek. "Anou er ... What do you want to do?" he asked lightly, deciding worrying about it wouldn't help their evening together much. It was probably just a flash. It was probably just too long since he had had a regular lay...

"I'd like to ask you some questions," Takeru grinned, hands moving to continue washing the dishes, "same ones I asked Taichi-san and Hikari-kun earlier today..."

"Questions?" absently, Yamato moved his hands to tie the apron at Takeru's waist. "About what?"

"You'll see," cerulean eyes were flashing at him once more, only with a hint of silent determination this time. "Would you please get the green notebook from my backpack? Once I'm done we can get started..."

Nodding, the older blonde wandered into the larger, carefully decorated living room. It had, perhaps, twenty meters squared (eleven tatami), trademark white walls and a cream-colored carpet, rimmed with navy strands, covering the spotlessly white tiles. A traditional oak low-leg table, Yamato's personal pick, placed in the very middle, matched the glass-doored shelves, enticed further by innumerous room plants and flowers, taking residence in it, giving the occupant a pleasant relaxing feeling. It was the least he could do, with a job as stressful and draining as his, his home needed to feel like a sanctuary if he wanted to wake up in the morning ready to face the new day.

On the big navy couch, between the soft cream-white pillows, Takeru's black backpack was dropped. He sat next to it, remembering vaguely that he had been the one to buy it for him a year or two before - a little souvenir from London. He ran his hand over the fine, resistant material, marveling at how it still looked freshly store-bought, despite he couldn't remember ever meeting his otouto without it. His fingers caught it's zipper, the small handle decorated by a ribbon reassembling the English flag, and drew it down slowly, hearing the gentle rasping of carefully conjoined metal drawing apart.

He saw the green notebook immediately, as with a few pens and a wallet, it was the only thing inside the bag. He wondered why was his brother needing it to ask him questions - was he taking notes of something? He flipped it open in his hands idly, not really reading, just scrolling the neatly written text. Yes, it did seem a meeting report notedown at first glance, he could even make out Taichi and Hikari's name. There had been Koushiro mentioned somewhere at the beginning, he was sure... He had just settled between the pillows comftably, when pages slipped out underneath his suddenly loosened fingertips, skipping quickly until they opened all by themselves. The page was very different from the others, the scrolling was rather mixed and unorganized, with lots of arrows and circled text and underlines as well as crossings and big angry x-es. Bit of the text was blurred and faded, as if stained with teardrops, and Yamato found himself bringing the page closer to his eyes, focusing on the words...

It was a poem... Takeru's poem. He wasn't sure he could read it, as it seemed to be a personal thing, and he was about to put the notebook aside when the word 'brother' caught his attention. Brother...

_'My brother, friend I hold so dear  
I'm singing you a love song you'll never hear...'_

Brother... was it just a figure of speech? Surely it couldn't be that his otouto had meant him... or could it? The title did read 'Elegy'... Before he knew it, Yamato was reading the poem.

_'It's like a feeling of disapproval  
It's like an old tear-stained novel  
Wet with tears you didn't cry  
As they were long locked up and dried_

_It's like a prize you never won  
The one kept betting on  
Like a loss you never felt  
A slow death from frail health_

_It's like a maze without an exit  
Like a sour birthday cake, taste it  
The older you get, the less you know  
Blow your candles, your shadows will grow_

_It's like a flower that doesn't bloom  
It's like midnight that comes at noon  
Like snow in June and heat in December  
A beloved name you cannot remember_

_It's like life, though yours or mine  
I know who we used to be through time  
My brother, friend I hold so dear  
I'm singing you a love song you'll never hear_

_It's like a wave of neglecting thoughts  
Like an escape rope tied in knots  
Like a call of death for another birth  
We'll meet again, no matter the hurt'_

He stared at the writing for several blank moments, awestruck. There was no solid proof, of course, as he knew poetry always had this multi-explanatory attribute, but the way he understood it...

Feeling of disapproval, it could mean the self-aware wrongness of love towards... him? A loss he never felt... a love he could never have? The love of his brother? A flower that doesn't bloom, a love without a future... An escape rope tied in knots, an unsolvable situation... And he was a brother and a friend, both at once...

"'niisan? Ready for the questions?" Takeru was crying from the kitchen, the rustling of cotton being removed and folded telling Yamato he had finished washing the dishes.

"I'm ready," he swallowed, trying to assure himself silently. Putting the opened notebook firmly by his side, he fore-saw their brotherhood crumbling into dust. "Are you, otouto?"

tbc

* * *

1** - **Mr. Ishida is half-French, I know, but I am not and I can't spell it. I'm not Italian either but... please try to bear with my choice ' 

PG-13, I'm growing surprisingly soft, I've noticed. Must be because I really don't see forecefull approaches with this couple. To tell the truth, this is my first Yamakeru, second ever incest. It feels somehow... different from writing regular yaoi. I wonder why...


	2. For two Pins

**DISCLAIMER:** Don't own Digimon, do own poems (they're not much, they've just emotional value)

_For Lar Lar. Very much so. Thank you for the wonderful Yamakeru birthday fic, you totally made my gloominess go away! Hopw u like it...  
_

**Rain of Poems  
**chapter 2 / 3 - _For Two Pins_

"Sure I am, 'nii."

Long slender legs, nearly as long as Yamato's, neatly poured into a set of finely thin but next-to-shapelessly baggy gray pants, made their way into the carefully furnitured living room, carrying along with an unconsciously inviting swing, a sweet slender silhouette, graced by the most clear and radiating twin Sapphires for eyes. Having paused by the big cozy navy couch, accompanied unknowingly by an amused stare since the moment he had passed the doorway, Takeru simply picked up his green notebook from where his brother had put it down beside him. With a stoned smile, forced upon his lips, he shifted its pages quickly, suddenly putting his finger on the reason of the pale shadow crossing his dear 'niichan's beautifully smooth features. "Shall we begin, then?" he breathed, suddenly finding looking down into his brother's eyes a much tougher task than he remembered.

"Sure."

Yamato knew it then. There was no need for words, nor spoken nor written, nor expressed nor only thought of. But what made sense in his heart misfit what his mind labeled to be sensible. Or right. Denial walls built up to shield the eloquence of it as he stared, Sapphire blue eyes transfixed, glued on the lean shift of muscles under the thin stretching cover of a wine-red skin-tight T-shirt as his otouto sat himself down beside him on the couch carefully. The soft navy surface shifted slightly under his humble weight and Yamato shivered, casting his eyes, filled with silent but painfully aware guilt, on the cream-carpeted floor underneath his navy slippers. Don't think about it, he leveled himself, subtly grasping hasty fistfuls of the hem of his soft, snowy white laxen shirt.

Somehow they made it through the next hour. Takeru had decided to write a book about their Digimon adventures, focusing fully on the answers he needed, about what Yamato thought of Gabumon, how did he view the events, what were by his opinion the most drastic ups and downs... and he scribed it all down. Watching him so dedicated, Yamato had to admit he never had any bigger ambition, a huge dream to follow. Not even the band. To him, the world was cold and selfish and that was that, but in Takeru's eyes... everything was still shining, always was, but perhaps not for long yet. He knew full too well he looked up to him, the shining star to follow, the dream come true. Perhaps he had viewed his coldness as his way of being, that Yamato simply needed less smiles and joy to push through another day. Perhaps he never asked himself why, just accepted, with that bottomless angel's heart of his...

"Niisan? What did you think of me?"

Yamato had to look up at that, unaware until then, he had been answering only halfheartedly, lost in his memories and thoughts and the vision of those skillful hands scribing. Takeru, the blonde impersonification of patience and calmness that he was, was looking back at him with the softest of smiles hinting the corners of his lips. The slightest shade of pink blushing his flawless cheeks. Like that... just that was the most wonderful expression Yamato had ever seen on him. Somehow he knew it had been there all along, but this time, for a change, he had paused and let himself take it in for what it actually stood. A heavy feeling bubbled in his throat, the kind no one would want in the context but craved with his life on its own. It hurt the way what he was about to say was double-edged, hiding two meanings all at once, the false meant to both hide and hint the real one...

"I always loved you." There, the truth said aloud. Hidden and evident both at once, only a matter of time until unmasked. The older blonde smiled, plastering on one of those ever fake just-brotherly smiles, cerulean eyes averted. Truly, what a horrible big brother was he... Even if his suspicions were true, he should have never added logs to the flame. Burning instantly with regret, he leaned back into the backrest of the couch, fingers tangled in his lap. Even if brothers deserved sincerity, this was the one truth that should have never been told.

Takeru, didn't write it down. Clenching the pencil in his fist he glared on at his niisan. He was unsure of what he might have meant, but niisan alone seemed reluctant at the moment, not meeting his eyes, thoughtful... For the sake of the book, he assured himself, for the sake of the book he'd have to make sure. A writer always had to know what he was writing about, right? "Niisan..." he crisped, voice coming much smaller and quieter then what he had intended, "I always loved you too..."

Yamato's eyes snapped up into his own instantly, wider and blankly surprised and oh so very blue, blue like only the sky could ever be in May. Shifting through his depths he seemed reading sadness, amusement, guilt... and all at once. Somewhere inside, Takeru had hoped beyond hope there would be happiness mirrored in them when he'd say those words, and the shadow of doubt crept cold from the pit of his stomach. He knew he was not supposed to keep feelings like that, but he had hoped Yamato would understand. Because niichan always understood him. Because niichan always loved him.

"I still do..." he whispered, eyes posed on the notebook below for a pretense he hoped he could still grasp for. He knew, now Yamato would stand up from that couch and smile, say he's happy, that his otouto was everything to him, hug him, play with his blonde hair and plant another kiss on his temple... And he did.

Takeru's blank expression cut through him, making his now routine deceiving smiles so much harder to come. But he did it, just like always managed to; assurance, hug, caress, kiss. Only when he intended to draw apart, thinking unclear thoughts and feeling unrequired feelings, did he realize he actually couldn't. Shaky arms circled his waist firmly, pulled him tight in an embrace the second he threatened to leave their sanctuary. And he stayed quiet, net entirely shocked at what was happening as he was shocked of his own heart bombing, beating to race with the intensity of the scroll of his thoughts, beating against Takeru's ear when his blond-crowned head leaned down on his chest and hid those cerulean eyes.

There are no patterns, no rules to follow when such realizations dawn, Yamato thought, swallowing. Because if he could mask it with denial before, facts were now washing it bare, uncontrollably, baring the truth he didn't know how to deal with, he never quite could be ready for it, no matter how evident. And he hated being unable to do anything. But he could do something now, couldn't he? Only... he never could guess was it a right or a wrong thing to do. Whoever made those basic rules should have been more specific and clear...

He drew his hands about Takeru then. Everybody had a treasure dear to them, did they not? A treasure that some never found or cherished until it was gone and they realized it meant the world to them. He had lost his treasure so long ago. In his heart, he had lost a brother. But found a lover instead. Only this love was never supposed to love him back as then he would loose that pretense that he could never have him, and live his life pretending he was happy, pretending he had all that he wanted, that money could buy it all.

He lowered his head drawing his shoulders away from supporting that golden-tressed head, the same one he had seen grow to reach his shoulders over the years, and Takeru's hands clawed at his shirt, alarmed that he would again attempt a drawing apart. "Takeru," he called him softly, exasperating when he found his hand could not reach his chin this way. He could feel his outoto shaking, locked in denial that ha was about to break their contact. He wasn't, but Takeru was so blocked for everything else then the feel of their contact that he simply refused to let go.

Words wouldn't do, Yamato sighed, drawing his hands about his shoulders once again. Nearly without giving it thought he placed his lips against his locks, not caring where it landed, as long as it was Takeru, they had reached their goal. Attempting to think of how and what to do, failing totally, he only noticed he had left his lips there when Takeru shifted his head and suddenly those wide skyey eyes were gazing directly into his own. He had though Takeru would be crying, because of all the times he had came crying to him in the past. He even half hoped he was, it would have been all too simple to pretend a good big brother then.

Those eyes beheld all the sadness that he expected them to, only... the just stared glossily back into his own. _I've grown,_ they said, _I know what I'm feeling. I know it's wrong. But it's here_. And it was there for him too, oh so very there. Always been perhaps. Closing his eyes to dismiss the world he leaned in, catching the last glimpse of those eyes widening, and he was topping his lips with his own. Of all the shit he had done in his life, of all the shit that was bind to do in the future, this one decision had been the easiest and most consequential at once. He tried not to fall into the feeling, thinking it would be way too much for Takeru to take, considering the possibility of him breaking away from the shock, and he left his hands soft and light upon him, to ease the attempt should there be one.

It came so slow, the response. Takeru moved his bottom lip, just drew it away and took a shaky breath against his mouth. Then his whole frame moved closer, flushing against the older and nuzzling his nose to the side, he was nibbling at his lips again, contact never been broken at all. Fighting with the feelings overwhelming him, Yamato let him prod, touch, explore, get used to the feeling... but inside he was loosing it. Kissing a brother should never feel this sweet. Slipping his tongue in the kiss, mind racing, he could feel those slender hands claw at this back and suddenly he was thinking no more.

He came to after an indefinable amount of time, it could have been just a minute or half an hour, cupping his brother's face close as if to keep him from escaping the kiss. Not that Takeru had any intention of doing so in the first place. One hand nearly driven into the older's back, the fingers of the other digging into his shoulder... it should have been obvious he was there to stay and that he wanted every bit of it. Moaning quietly when the lips were gone, he refused to let go of his brother or open his eyes. If he would just leave them closed like that, he could pretend the moment was still there. And even if Yamato felt attracted to him enough to have kissed him, he wouldn't have to open his eyes to reality and hear that silken voice tell him how wrong it was or how they should have never done it. Because Takeru knew that all along.

"Takeru..."

Those endless blue eyes snapped open regretfully, glazed from the pressure of the emotion they beheld, but clear in their will. This was where Yamato lost his ground. Lost the intent of telling to those eyes that the kiss had been a mistake, make some barely credible excuse, run away in him mind al lock it all behind. But he couldn't. And didn't want to, not when he saw in his eyes the fear his outoto bred of him doing just that. Still coping with so much happening all at once, he could feel his hand being tugged, never quite remembering when had Takeru's slit into it to angle their fingers there. Biting his lip at the decision, Takeru made it eloquent for the both of them when he turned, cerulean eyes averted and shy, but his hand firm and decided, and tugged his brother towards the bedroom door.

There should have been questions asked, Yamato mused, for how long had he wanted to do that, how deep were his feelings, why were they there and if they were to act upon at least, but they just wouldn't come. Clenching the leading hand, Yamato obediently followed, roles inversed from the ones years back in the Digiworld, even when his goal always remained the same, to protect him. Protecting him now was greeting his needs Yamato settled, because if his own were to be unleashed, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Felling alien in his own room, the room where they had slept together like the brothers they never completely were, and never perhaps would be, Yamato let him make this one new night a lover's night, standing there beside the bed with lidded eyes that greeted the blond vision of an angel that he made with the same affection he never thought they should. Unbuttoning one button at a time and planting one soft kiss at every new inch revealed, he wondered if life had ever meant for him to lead a calm life.

Laxen shirt hanging open, Takeru was now the one to straighten and gaze. Dreams were always there in the night, from when they first came, they had never left him, except when he had fallen asleep in that brotherly embrace, an embrace that was soon to become so much more, making those dreams come true. It hadn't been his intention to act upon them so soon, or ever, so he could gradually feel his courage slipping. Not the courage of wanting, just the courage of acting. Drawing his own shit over his head, he let it slip to the ground, gaze following to where it landed. Was Yamato going to stop him now? Was he going to come to his senses and tell him these things shouldn't be done between them?

Fine hands moved to slide up his bare arms, soothingly. Doubt was something they were both burdened to deal with, but as long as they willed to carry on, it was meant to be alright, wasn't it? Planting a soft kiss on the bridge of his nose, Yamato took his hands into his and let him seat on the bed, all the while locking those bombarding questions behind. Think of something else, he nudged himself mentally, something like... rhymes perhaps...

_Touch me, stroke me, feel me, take me  
I just want to breathe your breath  
I want to feel your touch upon me  
I am giving you myself._

Every kiss given, was greeted with one to mach, every caress delivered was repaid unconditionally, every feeling that mounted did so in unison for the both of them. Takeru was so responsive, so impossibly devoted, as Yamato would have never thought he could be. Or would. But the feel of his soft skin beneath his fingertips, the feel of his slender hands gliding against his form in return... it didn't feel it could ever be real. There never was a time that Yamato could recall having made love so consciously. While Takeru... Takeru had never made love before.

_Cause tomorrow I shall leave  
Racing wind across the sky  
Praying God to take my soul  
Without battle I shall die._

Lips descending that lean torso, determined as never before to bring pleasure to new heights, Yamato wondered how would their relationship turn out after this. It definitely felt like a big decision and it had already been made the moment he had let Takeru take him through the doorframe of the bedroom, but that made him doubt it no less. What they were would never again become what they are now, and although deep inside he wanted a change to be made, he never could tell if it wasn't worse then indecision or doubt. While Takeru felt neither, mused Yamato. Because he always found the strength to look ahead at a new tomorrow.

_So tonight I'm here to stay  
I shall hold you, let you take me  
Hiding from the morning's ray  
When I'll last time see your eyes._

Fingers tangled, blue eyes locked, but only for a moment or so. A world of pain exploded inside of Takeru for an excruciating second that seemed to stretch to eternity. "I'm sorry, otouto, gomen ne," Yamato was muttering, holding him, kissing him, trying to make it better with everything he thought could help. It hurt him, more than it hurt Tekeru perhaps, how those shaky breaths escaped his lungs randomly. He was about to draw back, ready to leave things as they were and never talk obit it again but... through the pain, his outoto smiled. Sunshine dawned at midnight.

"Closer, niichan," he begged with awaiting arms.

_After years, one day perhaps,  
They may say I saved to world  
It shall be because of you  
Because tonight I have been loved_

Slipping away from under the sheets where they had laid entangled together, Yamato sat up to watch his brother sleep. It was never meant to have come to this, he thought. Everything was the same around him, the bed, the furniture, the window, the balcony. Yet so much had happened that only the discarded clothes on the floor and the sweaty sheets could prove. There was no new enligtment ahead, no new dawn to save them, the one he was gazing at was just as cold as any other, painting the horizon with light as it did every day. There just was no happy ending to this, he knew.

The words were said and the dreams were given, all for his dearest outoto to sleep soundly and with a smile on his face, a smile that would be lost forever when the world wakes up to take notice. He could see no clear path through form there on. But that was nothing new, was it? He had... always loved Takeru, hadn't he? All of his songs were always written because of him, for him. But shielding the truth from himself could only lead him this far.

Takeru mewled when he shifted his weight off of the mattress, hand searching for him in his sleep blindly. He caught it, leaning to kiss it, and his otouto calmed down, breathing evenly on. He loved him, he knew. He had looked at the depths of his love so many times before, but never saw them for what they were, at least consciously not. But right now he wasn't ready to receive such a complete feeling, not when he couldn't rid himself of the doubts that stained it.

Letting go of the hand ever so carefully, he stood up beside the bed. The wave the washed him through wasn't regret. I wasn't even sadness. But it felt so cold nonetheless. Stuffing a few clothes in his duffel bag, he picked up his way to the bathroom, letting the water slide down his entire body, with the feel of his brother's skin lingering on him like oil, refusing to let him forget what exactly they had done. The intensity and completittion of it were now something that would stay with him forever.

Dressing, he walked quietly back into the bedroom, looking over Takeru's sleeping form, curled in the sheets and smiling, the first morning ray reflecting the real glow those golden locks could shine. Settling the bag back to the ground, Yamato sat himself at his desk, expressionless.

_The train has left  
And I'm walking it's tracks  
For each of my steps  
I take two steps back_

_My sky above  
Is titching pitch-black  
Moonless and starless  
With dancing snow flock_

_If it's all in my head  
Then why am I cold?  
How have I wandered  
In this endless ice void?_

_Perhaps it is fate  
This walking on alone  
But maybe one day  
My hopes shall dawn_

_Maybe they'll melt  
This grieving white snow  
To drench and reveal  
Which path I must go_

_But now as it is  
I'm just trying to grow  
Wishing to see  
My train through the snow_

Takeru stirred, and Yamato shook fearful of him to wake. Leaving the paper and the pan on the desk, he pulled himself onto his feet again, whipped the tears he couldn't quite find the reason for being in his eyes, hung the bag on his shoulder, and left it all behind. Kyoto. He would go to Kyoto a day in advance. He needed to be alone to find that strength to move on. For Takeru. For himself.

tbc

* * *

That was one tough lime to write XX I just couldn't do a lemon ;; It's sad how I love Yamakeru this much but can't write it! I did my best tho. Which, let's face it, could have been done better - I just have no idea how. I turned awfully dramatic at the end u.u;; Next chap (when it comes); conclusion. A happy one, no fears. ;;; C&C! 

Kitsu


End file.
